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Michael Fahrenbacher Poem
Tummy, Tummy, oh poor Tummy!
Heaping, steaming platters behold.
A bounty splendorous and yummy,
Nuts to pies to cranberry mold.
Kitchen simmering with flavor,
Smells that cause the nose to rise.
Gather in a whiff to savor,
Indulge behind two droopy eyes.
Voices lure you from your dreaming,
Invite you to your favored chair,
Give you silverware all gleaming,
Do together a Thanksgiving prayer.
And, Tummy, Tummy stop your stressing …
Yams, green beans, creamed corn, rolls with butter, celery sticks and carrot sticks,
mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, turkey and … dressing
!
Copyright © Michael Fahrenbacher | Year Posted 2010
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Details |
Michael Fahrenbacher Poem
While a roaming in the gloaming
many years ago,
with steps so jerky I met a turkey
swaying to and fro.
Now being lonely and awfully homely
I hoped that by a chance
my new found friend might help me end
my lowly social stance.
I looked at him so sleek and slim
and he smiled kind of smirky.
So I said as my heart bled,
“C’mon, let’s talk, turkey.”
He spoke not never and I so clever
just couldn’t figure him out.
Maybe he’s mad or maybe just sad
and I started to moan and pout.
His eyes now gleamed and it made me steam
to see such an elegant bird
sitting so high with a sneer in his eye
and uttering not a word.
Now Thanksgiving was coming and I was slumming
and going to have hot dogs again.
I thought t’would be nice to have turkey and spice
with a little dressing mixed in.
So to home I did run and fetched out the gun
and was quickly back on the scene.
"Now let's talk, turkey," I said kind of smirky.
Quoth the turkey, "How ghastly mean!"
Well that broke the ice for the turkey was nice
and we talked for an hour or so.
And when he said bye I thought I would cry
for I didn't want him to go.
Then my good old temptation sent up this sensation
of never again seeing my friend.
The gun it seemed bigger but I still pulled the trigger
and brought my poor friend to an end.
Then I thought, as likely as naught,
my friend feels bad about dieing
for as he had fell he had made my heart swell
because he was steadily crying.
Now he is dead and my heart is like lead
and my brain feels kind of malicious
but I won't forsake it because my mom baked it
and the white meat was just delicious.
Copyright © Michael Fahrenbacher | Year Posted 2010
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